Won’t talk is more like it, I guess.”
“That’s a shame,” Saltzman says. “Did you happen to see the Glendenning kids yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, I did,” Farraday says. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“Apparently, they missed the bus, and some woman was kind enough—”
“No, they didn’t miss no bus,” Farraday says.
“Whatever,” Andrews says. “The thing is, some woman was nice enough to pick them up, and drive them home. But she left them with the housekeeper, and drove off without saying what her name was.”
“That’s funny, ain’t it?”
“Well, she was probably in a hurry, Thing is, Mrs. Glendenning would like to thank her, so if there’s—”
“But they didn’t miss no bus,” Farraday says. “Fact is, they were about to get on the bus when she called them over.”
“This would’ve been a blue car, is that right?”
“Blue Chevrolet Impala, that’s right.”
“Woman driving it.”
“A blonde woman, yes.”
“Would you happen to know who she was?”
“Nope. Never saw her before in my life.”
“A woman, though?”
“Young blonde woman, yes,” Farraday says. “Hair down to here,” he adds, and runs the flat of his hand along the side of his neck, about three inches above the shoulders.
Scratch a black woman, Andrews thinks. But he asks anyway. “White or black?”
“I just said she was a blonde, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but lots of blacks these days bleach their—”
“I suppose that’s true, at that,” Farraday says, and nods. “But this woman was white.”
“How old would you say?”
“I didn’t get that good a look. Just saw a blonde leaning over to open the door for the kids.”
“And the kids got right in, is that it?”
“Got right in the car, yes.”
“Must’ve known the woman, wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t know if they knew her or not. Just saw them get in the car, and she drove right off.”
“You’re sure it was an Impala?” Andrews asks.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes, mister.”
“Didn’t think there was,” Andrews says, and smiles. In which case, why are you wearing bifocals? he wonders.
“ Blue Impala, right?” Saltzman asks.
“Blue as my eyes.”
Which Andrews now notices are, in fact, blue. Behind bifocals as thick as the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles.
“The year?” Saltzman asks.
“Couldn’t say exactly. But it was a new car.”
“You didn’t happen to notice the license plate, did you?”
“Wasn’t looking for it.”
“Florida plate, would it have been?”
“I didn’t look. I got things to do here, you know. I got a job here. I have to make sure all these kids get on their right buses. I have to make sure they all get home.”
Right, Andrews thinks.
So you let two of them get in a car with a blonde woman you never before saw in your life, quote unquote.
You blind old fart, he thinks.
Special Agent Felix Forbes is here on Rose Garrity’s doorstep this morning at eleven o’clock because apparently she reported a kidnapping to a detective in the Cape October PD’s CID, and no action was taken on her complaint. Standing beside him on Rosie’s doorstep is another federal agent named Sally Ballew, whom the Cape October cops call “Sally Balloons” because of her extraordinary chest development, which even Forbes has noticed on occasion. He does not think she knows the cops call her Sally Balloons. He is wrong. She knows. There is not much that gets by Sally Ballew.
The woman who answers the door is somewhat short and pudgy, in her early fifties, Forbes guesses, with a mop of brownish-red hair, and freckles on her cheeks and nose, and a high sheen of sweat on her forehead. This presages a house without air-conditioning, an unwelcome prospect on a day when the temperature has already hit eighty-six and the humidity is thick enough to swim in.
“Mrs. Garrity?” he says.
“Yes?”
“Special Agent Forbes,” he says, “FBI,” and shows his shield. “My
“That’s a shame,” Saltzman says. “Did you happen to see the Glendenning kids yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, I did,” Farraday says. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“Apparently, they missed the bus, and some woman was kind enough—”
“No, they didn’t miss no bus,” Farraday says.
“Whatever,” Andrews says. “The thing is, some woman was nice enough to pick them up, and drive them home. But she left them with the housekeeper, and drove off without saying what her name was.”
“That’s funny, ain’t it?”
“Well, she was probably in a hurry, Thing is, Mrs. Glendenning would like to thank her, so if there’s—”
“But they didn’t miss no bus,” Farraday says. “Fact is, they were about to get on the bus when she called them over.”
“This would’ve been a blue car, is that right?”
“Blue Chevrolet Impala, that’s right.”
“Woman driving it.”
“A blonde woman, yes.”
“Would you happen to know who she was?”
“Nope. Never saw her before in my life.”
“A woman, though?”
“Young blonde woman, yes,” Farraday says. “Hair down to here,” he adds, and runs the flat of his hand along the side of his neck, about three inches above the shoulders.
Scratch a black woman, Andrews thinks. But he asks anyway. “White or black?”
“I just said she was a blonde, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but lots of blacks these days bleach their—”
“I suppose that’s true, at that,” Farraday says, and nods. “But this woman was white.”
“How old would you say?”
“I didn’t get that good a look. Just saw a blonde leaning over to open the door for the kids.”
“And the kids got right in, is that it?”
“Got right in the car, yes.”
“Must’ve known the woman, wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t know if they knew her or not. Just saw them get in the car, and she drove right off.”
“You’re sure it was an Impala?” Andrews asks.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes, mister.”
“Didn’t think there was,” Andrews says, and smiles. In which case, why are you wearing bifocals? he wonders.
“ Blue Impala, right?” Saltzman asks.
“Blue as my eyes.”
Which Andrews now notices are, in fact, blue. Behind bifocals as thick as the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles.
“The year?” Saltzman asks.
“Couldn’t say exactly. But it was a new car.”
“You didn’t happen to notice the license plate, did you?”
“Wasn’t looking for it.”
“Florida plate, would it have been?”
“I didn’t look. I got things to do here, you know. I got a job here. I have to make sure all these kids get on their right buses. I have to make sure they all get home.”
Right, Andrews thinks.
So you let two of them get in a car with a blonde woman you never before saw in your life, quote unquote.
You blind old fart, he thinks.
Special Agent Felix Forbes is here on Rose Garrity’s doorstep this morning at eleven o’clock because apparently she reported a kidnapping to a detective in the Cape October PD’s CID, and no action was taken on her complaint. Standing beside him on Rosie’s doorstep is another federal agent named Sally Ballew, whom the Cape October cops call “Sally Balloons” because of her extraordinary chest development, which even Forbes has noticed on occasion. He does not think she knows the cops call her Sally Balloons. He is wrong. She knows. There is not much that gets by Sally Ballew.
The woman who answers the door is somewhat short and pudgy, in her early fifties, Forbes guesses, with a mop of brownish-red hair, and freckles on her cheeks and nose, and a high sheen of sweat on her forehead. This presages a house without air-conditioning, an unwelcome prospect on a day when the temperature has already hit eighty-six and the humidity is thick enough to swim in.
“Mrs. Garrity?” he says.
“Yes?”
“Special Agent Forbes,” he says, “FBI,” and shows his shield. “My
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